Today I was at a talk given by someone much more integrated into technology than I am, and at one point he mentioned a “blob of data.”
My mind instantly took off, wondering what a poem would be like that had that title. Here’s one absolutely half-a**ed effort:
A Data Blob
In dribs and drabs come bytes
from apples unimagined in our youth.
Ones and zeros congregate to form
vast chains of information set
to tunes and tones and tens
of thousands organizing bits.
Together they will blob
and bob around in space
until some enterprising nob decides
to decode what could just remain
a brick.
See, a bunch of data forms a blob,
and since Yeaworth is not directing, it
will not grow nor eat nor roll.
It contains without shaping.
It holds all those digits, those crumbs, those nibbles,
those bytes
until we can digest it.
And someday we will.
